BATMAN 1
by SBester
Summary: A new take on a classic story, from Bruce Wayne's humble beginnings in a darker, more realistic setting. Features the Joker. My goal for this story is to shock the audience with twists and turns that have never been seen before in the Batman universe.
1. PART 1A

**BATMAN 1**

**PART 1**

_**PROLOGUE**_

Gotham City, 1986.

The streets were shaded in pitch black, the only light emanating weakly from the odd lamp post which was dim to begin with. The Waynes made their steady way across the vacant road quickly but quietly, scanning both ways for cars before crossing to the other side. No driver would have been able to see them through the darkness in time to swerve away, but in Gotham, no one even cared to try. It had once been a city like any other, and in some ways still looked as it may still be, but Gotham was no longer a peaceful place to live. The dangers and risks of living there were getting worse by the day, for crime was becoming the dominant business in such harsh times. No one dared walk the streets at night, especially when a party consisted of children; but on this night, the Wayne family had no choice in the matter.

Mr. Thomas Wayne was a very successful business man who had carried on in his father's place as the head of a technological research corporation known as Wayne Enterprises, and was arguably the wealthiest man in all of Gotham City. Riches aside, the man himself was an honorable and well respected man, known for his generosity and delightful presence over all else. He had lived his entire life in Gotham City, and to his family, it was a home that no other place could ever replace. The recent change of atmosphere had almost gone unnoticed by the wealthy family who had spent most of their time inside the protective walls of Wayne Manor, if it had not been for the outpour of media coverage on such things as gang warfare and murderous crime sprees. Despite such distasteful headlines, Mr. Wayne knew deep in his heart that the residents of Gotham had once been good people, and he dedicated a great amount of his time to helping others to remember that as well. Much of his earnings were spent on government funding for keeping the streets as safe as they could possibly be, allowing for more local officers to join the ranks and patrol the streets twenty-four seven.

Wayne had a loyal wife of ten years, Martha, who stood by him at all costs, and a young son, Bruce, who had just turned eight. The three seemed to be walking at a quickening pace as they reached the sidewalk again, alert yet confused as to what had been happening on this particularly strange evening. Only Mr. Wayne himself knew for sure that were being pursued as he tried hard to conceal his intention of escape from his loved ones as not to arouse panic, yet also pushing them along faster in an attempt to avoid detection.

"Sweetheart, not so fast!" his wife had a recognizable amount of concern in her voice.

"Turn here," Wayne gestured towards a darkened alleyway to their right. The alley was pitch black, so black that at first, the young Bruce hadn't noticed a gap in between buildings.

"What?" his wife protested. "It's dark in there, what are you…" she was cut off as he hustled them into the darkened path.

"It's a shortcut home." Wayne lied. It was a hiding place, somewhere he had hoped no one would be searching for him.

"But the car is back at the theatre," Bruce piped weakly. They walked on through the dark, barely able to see five feet in front of themselves.

"You're scaring him!" Wayne's wife said nervously, whispering now, detecting the danger that her husband was trying to avoid. She had been scared herself, moreso than her son, for she knew that something was in pursuit of them now and did not have a clue who or what had been the cause. The family had left the theatre barely twenty minutes into the production after Wayne had returned from a trip to the restroom, beckoning that they leave for home immediately with no explanations as to why. It had been the deep trust that he shared with his wife that prevented her from asking questions before complying with his request, a trust that had strengthened over the years through love and appreciation for one another.

"Mummy!" Bruce suddenly cried out, sensing at his mother's words that something was definitely wrong.

"Everything's fine, just keep going." Wayne had just finished his instructions when suddenly from out of the shadows, a lean black form appeared before them. The dim lights from the opposite entrance to the alleyway were the only thing that distinguished his figure from the sheer blackness around them. No face could be seen, no color depicted in his clothing, just the outlines of a human form. The Waynes stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of the stranger and immediately the threat he posed became evident. It was the way he stood there in there path, barely moving except for the slow motion of breathing which was done all too calmly in such a dreadful place as this. The figure took a slight step forward, followed by another and muffled a laugh.

"Something wrong, sir?" the voice was not deep, nor threatening, but the calmness of his reverberations repelled the family with each step.

"Nothing at all, thank you." Wayne muttered, still afraid to push his family onward.

"Then why walk so quickly? And through such a dark alley so late at night… some would consider that a bit odd, wouldn't you agree? Foolish, even." The man took another step forward, his features still thoroughly masked by the night's embrace.

"Please just let us be on our way," Wayne gently placed his hands to the backs of his wife and child and guided them forward, ever so slightly as not to mistakenly throw them into harm's way. As their path turned away from the dark figure, he side stepped back into their path.

"But we have so much to talk about, Mr. Wayne."

Hearing his name led to utter panic, threatening to consume him completely. Wayne took a few slow breaths in attempt to calm himself, but it was not working. His family was in danger because of him, and now there may be no way out for any of them.

"Please just let them go,"

"I could do that… but that depends on how cooperative you are." The tall figure raised his hand in the air slightly, and the outline of a gun could be seen clenched between his tightening grip. "Now, Mr. Wayne, talk."

"I… I don't know what you want me to say, is it money that you want? I can get you money, just…"

"I don't want your money, Mr. Wayne. I want to know what happened to mine. Tell me, where did all of my hard earned dough find itself?" the man pointed the gun slowly at Mrs. Wayne, young Bruce attached tightly to her waist.

"Please! I, I don't know who you are! Tell me who you are and I can tell you where your money is!" Wayne pleaded with the faceless criminal.

"If I were to do that, I couldn't leave witnesses, could I?"

Bruce started to cry into the coat his mother wore, unable to understand the heavy situation his father had somehow put them in.

"I… I… but I don't know!" Wayne got on his knees. "Please just let them go and we'll talk!"

"The woman can go, the boy stays until you tell me what I want to know." The man commanded, sorely disgusted by Wayne for resorting to begging. Mrs. Wayne clutched at her son, refusing to leave her child alone in a psychotic man's hands. "No?" he had given her a chance, and she had ungratefully not taken his generous offering.

BANG!

The body that young Bruce held on to fell limply, and lifelessly to the ground, the pitch black covering the bullet wound freshly planted into her forehead.

"No! You son of a bitch!" Wayne dropped to the ground beside his beloved, tears streaked across his face but unseen through the darkness. Bruce was frozen in place, unable to move as the weight of the world dropped heavily onto his shoulders and his breath no longer functioned on its own.

"My name is Red Hood." The man revealed himself.

Wayne looked up at the man's face, but it was still hidden. "I don't have your fucking money! I don't know you! Pleaheahease!" he wailed and squealed, his life had fallen away from him, completely out of his control.

"That is a shame, Mr. Wayne. I would hate to see this boy grow up without a father, as well as a mother. This is your last chance, Mr. Wayne." The man readied the gun out in front of him and cocked it, a sound that echoed through the alley and implanted itself in the mind of young Bruce and would stay there for the rest of his life.

"I don't… Please, no!" Wayne cried weakly, accepting what was about to happen, yet hopeful that by this comment the man intended to let his son go after the deed was done.

"Time is up, Mmmmiisssttterrr Wwwwaaayyynnne." The words were drawn out in Bruce's mind as his brain took in every millisecond of the next few moments.

BANG!

Another bullet made its escape through its wretched hole and charged its way through the center of Mr. Wayne's skull, matching the one planted in his lovely wife's head. Bruce looked up at the murderer, the innocent child still unable to bear such mature feelings of hatred and anger as one would expect. His eyes bled of anguish and fear, but they too had been masked by the black of the night.

"I've been there, kid." The man addressed the child as if nothing of importance had happened at all. "And one day, you'll become like me."

Bruce stared in horror, still unable to move a muscle in the presence of the masked killer. Suddenly, the man turned and started on his way through the alley.

"Be seeing you." It was a promise that Bruce should have made himself.


	2. PART 1B

**YOUNG MASTER WAYNE**

4 Years Later…

A twelve year old Bruce Wayne walked slowly down the steps of Gotham Elementary School as the other children pushed by him in a rush to get back to their humble abodes. The young master of Wayne Manor had only one friend at the school, a pretty girl by the name of Selena Kyle, and she was absolutely crazy about the boy. Unfortunately, he had shown little to no affection for her, or anyone after the incident that had occurred four years previous. Bruce's psychiatrist, a man employed courtesy of the Waynes' butler, Alfred Pennyworth, had determined that the child had reacted to the incident in a very rare and somewhat peculiar way. It was common for a young child to withdraw from the support of others after such traumatic experiences, often reverting into strange states of withdrawal from social support, or even refusal to speak; but Bruce had not done this entirely. There was something in his eyes that told the doctor that things were not as they really seemed, like the boy was living in two entirely different worlds at the same time. Bruce spoke when it was asked of him, but never otherwise. He always answered to the best of his ability, but it was as if he believed his own words to be untrue. Bruce Wayne's true thoughts were locked away in his head, caged behind an impenetrable wall where no one could be let inside.

Selena, herself, had been under similar circumstances. She as well was without blood related relatives, and was forced to live with a foster father who beat her and perhaps even more. She had found a commonality with Bruce, but for some reason it was as though he could care less. Such behavior only intrigued the girl further, for she was determined to reach out to him and find out who the real Bruce Wayne was, but after so many years she was beginning to lose hope. High school was just around the corner for the two average students of Gotham Elementary School, and beyond that lied a new world that had yet to be discovered.

She passed by him as they walked the schoolyard, no longer knowing what to say to him anymore. Bruce was like an empty shell, a robot. There was no emotion in the boy to be shown, no personal thoughts of his own to share with her or any of the other children. There was sadness in her heart as she glanced at him one final time before leaving him to himself, his head hanging low and his eyes as dark and blank as December skies. Just what was he thinking? What had he ever been thinking since that night of his parents' murder? Perhaps he was reliving the entire episode in his mind, over and over again, wondering if maybe he could have done something to stop what had happened. Perhaps he was thinking about happier times, when he had been like any other child. Perhaps he was thinking of nothing at all, his mind drawing up as blank as his eyes had read.

"Goodbye, Bruce."

"Bye," came his barely audible reply, absent of emotion as she had come to expect.

Summer was just around the corner, but the Spring time in Gotham city had never left a glamorous impression on its inhabitants. The skies were a pitch white, as cold and lifeless as winter had been. The winds were chilling, brushing past the skin and etching their way down to the bone. No plant life seemed to grow anywhere, as the birth of such beauty in these hellish lands would not have gone unnoticed. Still, many of the Gotham citizens were a hopeful bunch, and the swollen void left in their lives by such dire circumstances were quickly filled by the simplicities surrounding them. A child's laughter, for instance, could on occasion cause one's jaw muscles to strain into an involuntary smile. Anything seen in a positive light was comfort enough for these people, for it was all they had left to believe in.

Bruce walked alone through the dying grass of the school yard, never looking up for anything or anyone. The only sounds he could hear were the gliding winds as they blew past his ears as the voices of the other children faded away. He always walked home to Wayne Manor by himself, despite Alfred's numerous attempts to convince him otherwise. It was not that Bruce did not like the idea of being chauffeured around by an old man, but rather the fact that he liked the alone time that came with a ten minute walk back home.

Suddenly, Bruce became aware of a presence close by. Eyeing to his left onto the empty roads, he saw that a black car had pulled up beside him. Knowing that there was no one else around, he concluded that the car was indeed meant for him… but who?

The window of the long black limo rolled down and Alfred's face could be seen sitting in the driver's seat.

"Master Bruce," there was urgency in his weakened voice. "Please, get in!"

Bruce kept walking, his pace did not stagger and his mouth did not open to speak.

"Please, master Bruce! There is trouble at the estate! They are looking for you!" Alfred begged his young master.

Bruce finally stopped and looked back at the old man, suddenly very alert. Questions rushed into his brain all at once, and the sense of danger became all too real for the child. Without further delay, he opened the door and sat in the passenger seat, awaiting an explanation.

"What happened?" Bruce demanded, quickly but calmly.

"I don't really know for sure. These men showed up to the house and started asking all these legal questions about you being the rightful heir to the estate and the company, and being in my guardianship, and…"

"Alfred, did you call the lawyer?" Bruce tried to keep the old man calm and focused.

"Yes, there was no answer. I thought it best that you come back and speak for your own." Said Alfred.

Ever since the night of Thomas and Martha's murder, Bruce had adjusted to a life of adulthood. Though still very young, he was well informed of his many assets and was never afraid to speak on his own behalf, no matter what the subject at hand may be. He knew better than to answer legal questions without an attorney present, for it was always the safest bet. But it was Alfred who knew better than to let such matters take place without informing the young master, for one day, Bruce would own the largest thriving company Gotham had to offer.

The limo pulled into the driveway entrance, and the gates to Wayne manor slowly lifted to allow them safe passage through.

"Answer nothing until we get a hold of Mr. Dent." Bruce instructed as the car was parked.

"Right," His British accent almost always made Bruce want to chuckle to himself.

The two got out of the limo and walked up the long walkway to the beautiful porch of smooth cement. Before opening the door, Bruce turned to glance at the other car parked snuggly beside the limo. It was a light blue station wagon, not a new model, but kept well enough to look it. Thomas Wayne had owned four of them, Bruce knew because they were still kept in the garage.

Upon entry, four young gentlemen were standing in the centre of the hallway admiring the luxurious mansion. They were not at all what Bruce had expected, wearing torn old coats of odd colors and shades, and not at all business-like in appearance.

"Ah, the young millionaire has arrived," the closest man said as Bruce and Alfred entered the home. Bruce studied this man a moment, noticing first and foremost that he wore an expression on his face unlike any he had ever seen. His eyes were red and held bags underneath them that seemed to pull the balls in crazed directions. There was something obviously wrong with him, and the others seemed to have the same problem. Wayne and Bruce glanced at each other, both wanting to say something to the other but not in such company. The man held out his hand, "Pleasure to meet you."

Bruce stared down at the hand, sensing immediately that this man was not to be trusted.

"Not one for shaking hands? That's cool, little man, I'm down with that."

"What do you want?" Bruce demanded expressionlessly.

The four men laughed out loud, high pitched squeals that tore into one's eardrum like a jackknife.

"All business, eh? We just wanna ask you a few small questions about your guardian here and your ownership of…"

"Not until my lawyer gets here," Bruce mustered before the man could finish. "Alfred,"

"Right away, sir."

Alfred left the room while the four men stood stunned by this demonstration, and could not help but repeat their appalling shrieks. The one who had been speaking seemed to be the leader, for he began to laugh as the others stared dumbly and said, "I can see we're dealing with a true businessman,"

Bruce ignored this and walked past the group of men to the next room where Alfred could be seen making a phone call to the lawyer. Whispering as he walked by, he told the butler to hang up and call the police instead, to which Alfred replied in a hushed tone that he already was.

"Oh, mister WAYNE," the leader of the men called from the next room. "Some people would think it rude to walk away from guests like that. I'll let it slip this time on account of you being so young, but you hafta come back and have a discussion with me, an important one."

"Four gentlemen, yes, Wayne manor," Alfred whispered and hung up the phone when the four figures burst into the room.

"Alright, old timer. Where is he?"

"Master Wayne has retired to his room, I'm afraid. Perhaps another day would be better for such affairs to be…"

"Nah, I think we'd rather take care of this now. Get'im," the leader now looked angry.

"Right away," Alfred bowed and took leave. When the old man reached the top of the stairs where young Bruce had gone he began to quicken in pace and moved straight for the master bedroom where he knew to find him.

"What if they do something to the house?" Bruce asked.

"It would seem that it is out of our hands for now, master Wayne," Alfred hurried the lad along to the far end of the bathroom to the secret passageway hidden behind the mirror. Bruce's father had made secret passageways throughout the entire home when he was alive to assure his family's safety in any case, the man knew very well what was important to him and had made sure that Bruce knew where each and every one was hidden. In seconds, the two escapees were gone and the mirror was back in place as if nothing had happened. The path lead to an underground vault (which was empty now, for the money was now held at Wayne Industries), where the two would hide until the police had arrived and made sure that there was no longer any danger.

"Alfred, they came to kill me, didn't they?" Bruce looked at the older man, his eyes still held strong.

"If that was their intention, the deed would be done, sir."

"Then what did they want?"

"I don't know. Your father had many enemies, but I believe these men have interest in something other than revenge. They looked too rugged to be interested in buying the company, or the house itself, so I imagine they work for someone with that kind of wealth," Alfred shut the door to the vault, they were safe now.

"Why would he send those creeps?" Bruce continued to ask questions that he knew had no answers from Alfred.

"… I don't know, young master Bruce. Something very odd is going on here, and I'm not sure that a young fellow like yourself and an old bugger like m'self are a fit combination to defend ourselves against such things, not yet anyway,"

"Alfred," Wayne started.

"I'm sorry, Bruce. I cannot protect you like this, not when this keeps happening. When the police arrive, I'm going to speak with your uncle and request that you go and live with him for a little while, just until things settle down," he never liked telling Bruce what to do, but he knew that this was for the best.

"…Then what?" Bruce asked himself.

"You know as well as I do, sir. No one can tell what the future may hold, but perhaps if we both had some time to think about it we could come up with a solution to our problems."

Bruce thought about it for a moment, _a solution to our problems. _Was it really that simple? If he were superman, he wouldn't have to think his way out of messes like these. But Bruce was nothing but a child, small and defenseless, just as he had been the night of his parents' death. It seemed like he would never be more than that, and time and time again he would watch as things were taken from him while he sat in a corner, doing nothing to stop it.

The next day, Bruce packed his bags and Alfred drove him to the train station. For the next 6 years, Bruce would live in Chicago with his uncle, Charles. Charles was a wealthy man himself, but lived alone in a relatively small house. The man was a drunk, and kept to himself as much as possible, which was fine with Bruce. The young Wayne would live the same way he had in Gotham, not making friends or enemies in school but learning as much as he could day by day so that one day he could take good care of the empire his father had built. It would not be until he turned 18 years old that he would return to Gotham city, only to find it in worse shape than it had been when he left it.


	3. PART 1C

C. A New Man

"Will you be needing anything else, sir?" Alfred turned as he was on his way out of Bruce's quarters.

"Not at all, Alfred, thanks," Wayne spread himself out on his bed, it was just as he had left it all those years ago.

"Then I shall be back in a little while, I am going grocery shopping for the afternoon. Have a nice rest. Oh, and by the way, Miss Selena Kyle stopped by earlier to see if you had arrived yet, I told her you would be in need of sleep when you arrived, but she insisted that you contact her as soon as you could,"

"Where's she work now?"

"At the coffee house down the street, Mindy's. Am I to expect that is where you will be when I get back?" Alfred could read Bruce like a book, even after such a long time. Bruce considered the question carefully before answering the way Alfred had expected.

"Yeah, maybe."

The door closed and Wayne was left to himself once more. He stared up at the ceiling for only a few short moments before being compelled to leave his comfortable spot. He was in desperate need of sleep, but he knew all too well that it would not come until he saw Selena, more out of curiosity of what the girl was like now than anything else. Tiredly, he walked out of his room and headed straight for the garage. The Aston Martin was his car of choice for the day, though he had many favorites. It felt good to finally be able to use his fortune for his own benefit for once, and immediately, he knew he could get used to this way of life easily.

The car pulled silently out of the garage and on to the main streets of Gotham, his hometown. It was just as dark and dreary as he'd left it, the skies still neglected the rays of sunlight and the roads were the furthest thing from smooth. The people who walked the sidewalks were all expressionless. Homeless with misspelled signs used for begging, young teenaged mothers whose beauty had been lost to the stresses and lack of sleep due to the life of single parenting, and the miserable shit crooks who were out to get whatever they could. No children played in the smoggy atmosphere, no couples walked hand in hand in hopes of a brighter day tomorrow. The city was like a ghost town during the day, the depressed inhabitants only added to the scene as they floated wordlessly along their paths to nowhere in particular.

_My father had a vision of Gotham's future as a nice and hospitable city, how could things have gotten this worse since he died?_ Bruce was astounded at this horrible thought. It was true that the Wayne Empire had put countless amounts of money into trying to make Gotham a better place to live, but where it seemed to have failed before, in actuality, it had kept a bad town stationary instead of allowing it to decline. With Thomas Wayne gone, so was the spirit of Gotham, perhaps forever. This was a lot to fall on the shoulders of Bruce, and he felt sick to his stomach knowing that he now had the responsibility of continuing his father's exploits, no matter how hopeless it seemed. And of course he could always just pick up and move somewhere else, but Alfred would never forgive him, and his parents would turn in their graves. At least Bruce was now old enough to be able to handle the rough exterior of the city, or so he thought.

Mindy's was only a 2 minute drive, and he thought he spotted Selena through the glass of the building immediately as he glanced around for a parking spot along the side of the street. He got out of the car and locked it automatically, only now had he realized how out of place the expensive looking car seemed in such an ugly neighborhood. Selena could see him walking up to the glass doors of the café and quickly walked for cover behind the cash counter, turning away to think of what she should say. Bruce had become such a handsome young man, and perhaps this newer and more mature man would now be the sociable person she'd always wished he could be. Her breath was short, and she surprised herself with the sudden rush of adrenaline. Had she really missed him that much?

"Selena?" Bruce was upon her from the opposite side of the counter before she could think of what she was going to say.

"Bruce," she turned and gave an awkward looking smile. "Good to see you, how have you been?"

Wayne looked her up and down quickly with a shift of his eyes, realizing that despite the tired and grubby look of her outfit and face, the girl had become a stunningly gorgeous dirty blond vixen. "I've been good. 'Lot to talk about, are you on break soon?"

"I can be," she cleaned her hands with a small cloth and began to take off her apron. "You look so different," she couldn't help a nervous laugh.

"So do you," he returned the smile.

"Can we sit outside?" she asked.

"Sure, never saw you as a smoker."

"Hah, only when I can afford it," she joked. _Which is never._

The two sat at the one table set outside in cool, uncomfortable wiry chairs. Selena brought out a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and offered one to Wayne, which he graciously declined. Lighting one, she sat back and allowed the smoke to calm her before she began to talk.

"It's been a long time,"

"It has. I'm glad you came to see if I was back," Bruce caught her offguard.

"I uhm… I'm glad you came to see me," Selena rubbed her eye to hide her blushing.

"So how have things been?" Wayne continued the already awkward conversation, unphased.

"Heh, fine. I'm working in a coffee shop for minimum wage, own four cats in a falling apart complex with a smoking habit I can't afford, and…" her nervous fake laugh couldn't help lighten her situation, and Bruce knew she needed support through her rough time. "I'm sorry, it's been… a little hard lately," she admitted.

"I heard about your father going to jail last year, I'm sorry. I'm sure you'll be fine in the long run, everyone goes through hard times at some point in their lives. Just be happy that your is happening now so you'll have a long life to look forward to of easier times."

"Mmhmm, maybe," she puffed again. "How long are you staying in town?"

"I was thinking indefinitely, now that I'm done schooling I can finally take over the family business from the rats who run it now and continue running it the way my father intended."

Selena smiled genuinely for the first time during their meeting, "I think that sounds like a pretty noble plan. Think you can stick to it?"

"Why wouldn't I be able to?"

"I didn't mean I don't think you can handle it, Bruce, but you did just kinda up and leave all those years ago. Not a word to anyone, a goodbye, no or anything," Selena had indeed been hurt by his leaving. By not telling her that he had to move away, she felt like he didn't care for her at all, and he now saw how this affected the poor girl.

"Selena, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt anyone, I was just too blind to notice anyone would care. I was always off feeling sorry for myself, blind to the fact that you always stood by me. I can see that now, and I wish I could take it back now, I really do. But I had no choice in leaving the way I did, things just got… complicated."

Selena looked down at the ground for a moment in contemplation of his words. "Promise me you'll stay now?"

"There's nothing for me to run away to now," he assured her.

Selena dropped her cigarette butt on the ground and crushed it with her worn shoe, "I need to get back to work, we're short staffed today," _short staffed everyday._

"I'll call you tomorrow, we'll have dinner," Wayne offered promptly.

"That sounds great," Selena could now feel the hope she'd been wanting to feel since the moment she heard of Bruce's return to Gotham. This man was going to make everything alright, for her, and the rest of Gotham city. "I guess I'll talk to you then,"

"Good to see you again,"

Bruce knew there was something Selena hadn't told him, or perhaps more than just one thing. The girl had gone through so much over the last few years, sexual abuse from her father, a drug addiction that claimed the life of one of her closest friends, a terrible financial situation, and through it all there was no one quite like Bruce Wayne that she could turn to for help. It seemed that every woman her age was going through the same sorts of turmoil, and their futures seemed all too bleak. Wayne was determined to help her in any way that he could, but at the same time, he had other responsibilities that he needed to attend to.

"Who is he?" Bruce asked into the phone to the sub director of Wayne Enterprises, Joseph Haze.

"He owns half the city, basically. Name's Cobblepot. Cheeky little bastard, but he's a businessman if I ever knew one. He's requested a meeting with you tonight at his office headquarters, on Berlin street. All you have to do is go there, listen to him plead his case, decline his offer to buy out the company, and leave." Haze sounded cool and calm.

"If he own half the city then why the hell is he looking to expand?"

"He's a greedy prick, just like anyone who owns anything in this godforsaken town. Take it from me, Bruce, you're a one of a kind and you can't afford to be pushed around by guys like him. I'll be right there with ya, every step of the way, so don't you worry."

"When do we leave?" Bruce stood from his comfortable officeroom chair and stretched his back out.

"Your ride should be right out front any minute now,"

"Now? Alfred's not home yet, he's gonna be worried if I just disappear."

"He knows about it, that old man knows everything about this company. You should really stop thinking of him as a butler and start thinking of him as a mentor,"

"He's family," Bruce was annoyed by Haze now and dreaded the long night with him that was about to come.

"I'll see you in ten, Bruce,"

_It's mister Wayne, to you, _he almost blurted, instead he hung up the phone and looked out the window to the stormy night. Sure enough, there was a limo parked out front, the headlines were the giveaway.

"Oswald Cobblepot, hmm?" Wayne thought upon the name. The man would indeed be very powerful, but just how rational would he handle rejection by an 18 year old millionaire? Bruce did not feel confident about the situation, but it was true that eventually these pointless encounters would become a regular part of his job.


	4. PART 1D

D. The Departure

Wayne's limo pulled up to a tall and dark building in the middle of downtown Gotham city. The rains were coming down in torrents upon the streets and Bruce was not at all eager to step outside the vehicle , despite having his own umbrella. The car door was opened for him, and a dark figure stood in front to greet him and offered his own umbrella as a courtesy.

"Bruce," the gentleman smiled.

"Mr. Haze," Wayne stepped out of the limo and dragged his umbrella from under the seat.  
"Right on time, Mr. Cobblepot will be pleased."

"Heh, until I tell him I'm not selling," Bruce opened his umbrella and sheltered his head, stepping away from his 'friend'. The two walked up to the entrance of the building, the sound of the rain on their umbrellas was loud enough to shake the young millionaire from his sleepiness.

"You haven't got a thing to worry about, I assure you," the two men were now under the shelter of the entrance roof, and began to fold their umbrellas up.

Bruce noticed two things; one was that the three men that followed them were very suspicious in their presentation. They all wore black suits and from the bulge in their jackets it was evident that they were all carrying guns, which made him feel all the more uneasy about the situation he was about to get into. The second thing he noticed was that the building they were entering had no lights on, which seemed odd when the big cheese himself was present. One would think that the place would be bustling when the boss man was around, but this place was obviously vacant on the bottom floor.

"Right this way," Haze led the group down a dark hall to the even darker lobby. The grand, open area seemed as if it were a main lobby for a hotel, but the no light had been shed upon anything, and there was no one else to be seen.

"I thought we were going to his business office," Bruce kept his voice low.

"It's on the top floor, this area belongs to a different branch of their operations," Haze explained.

"What kind of things does the company deal in?"

Haze looked back at Bruce for a second and smiled, "Money, what else?"

It was a lame joke, but Bruce faked a laugh anyway. The men stopped at the elevator door and waited patiently, each keeping quiet as they thought upon the events that were soon to occur.

The sound dinged and the doors opened, allowing the men access into the shaft. The four men crowded around Wayne, as if to protect him, but this proved bothersome when the doors shut and it became apparent that this elevator was not meant to hold so many people.

"You would be right to keep mind your manors, young sir. Mr. Cobblepot is a very well liked man in this city, and some say he even plans on running for the position of mayor in the coming years. We wouldn't want to pass up possible close ties with a man like that, now, would we?" Haze spoke to Wayne as if he were a child.

"Politicians aren't my favorite people to begin with," Bruce stated ignorantly. "If this man wants my respect, he's going to have to show me his in turn."

The elevator doors opened once again and the five men walked forward down a lighted hall. Wayne was relieved to see that this area was unlit, although there did not seem to be any other workers as they passed by numerous cubicles with out of date computers on the desks. Bruce could not shake the feeling that something was wrong, but there was nothing he could do now, he was in too deep. The men stopped at the double doors at the end of the hall, which was presumably Mr. Cobblepot's office room.

"Jimmy," Haze motioned for one of the men to open the door. Jimmy stepped forward and knocked twice quickly before twisting the knob and barging in.

BANG!

One of the men shot Jimmy in the back of the head, sending his lifeless body to the ground. Before Bruce could realize what had happened, Haze grabbed his arm and threw him into the room with no lighting whatsoever. He fell to the ground hard, and spun around to face his attackers.

"Get in there, you little shit!"

When Bruce looked up from the ground into the angry associate's face, he realized that his life was about to end the exact same way that it had for his parents.

"What is this!" Wayne demanded.

"This is me taking over what is rightfully mine, " Haze stepped forward, reaching in to his jacket and pulling out a 9mm pistol. "24 years I've been with this company, always being second in command and never getting anywhere because some prick of a child just happened to fall in to the family of the dead owner."

"You want complete control over the company…" Wayne was dumbfounded. "Didn't we pay you enough?"

"Well, Bruce, enough is really only enough for a little while. I want your entire fortune, and the only way to get it is by killing you," Haze pointed the gun at the young man's head.

"You fucking"

BANG!

The bullet struck Bruce in the left side of the head, just skimming above the temple and knocking his body back to the floor but not killing him. The darkness concealed the wound, and the three men assumed he was dead. Consciousness did not escape young Bruce, though his mind fought hard to keep it together. He had to make sure they did not notice his breathing.

"Put him in the bag quickly, I'll be downstairs readying the limo," Haze ordered as he stormed out of the dark room and into the hallway. The two remaining men did as Haze commanded wordlessly while Bruce tried his best to breath very slowly, and hoped that his heavily beating heart would not give him away. His eyes were closed, and all he could hear were the sounds of the bag that he was about to be stuffed into. When one man grabbed him by the arm, he went completely limp and acted as if his body had no life within it at all. There was very little air inside the bag and he knew that soon he would run out of oxygen as he felt himself being lifted from the ground and carried over one of the men's backs. The steps helped to cover the steady in and out breathing that Bruce struggled to maintain, but he could feel the blood flowing up to his face and his head began to spin. It was by the time they had reached the elevator doors once again that he passed out.

"Hurry," came a voice through the rain when they had made it outside. The body bag was thrown in the back of the trunk and the two men rushed to get inside the limo's backseat to rejoin their boss. "Well done, gentlemen," Haze congratulated his men.

"Now whaddo we do?" one piped.

"Now we head to the central bridge and throw him over, no one will ever suspect a thing. Tomorrow, someone will find him washed up ashore, but we'll be too busy with the company to even notice he's disappeared."

"What if that Alfred guy suspects us?"

"Pennyworth? I sincerely doubt that old man could ever figure it out. Our records are clear, gentlemen. The body was never touched by our own flesh, and no other traces of anything will ever be lead back to us. The plan is foolproof."

Ten minutes later, the limo arrived at the central bridge of Gotham city, the thick torrents of rain shielded oncoming traffic completely from seeing them throw the sack over the ledge. With a quick heave ho, the body went soaring through the wet winds as it fell into the waters below. The jolt woke Bruce immediately, the lack of oxygen sent him into a troubled panic as he kicked and squirmed in the cold night waves. Water flooded the bag and Wayne knew that he was merely seconds away from death. Feeling with his fingers at the seams, he ran them up and down until he could feel an opening. He found it almost immediately, fumbling with his other hand to join with the other, he ripped with all his strength and was free to swim to the top of the waters to catch his breath and live.

The cool night air burned his lungs like fire as he struggled to keep his head above the waves. The rain came down too hard for the young man to see where he was or where he could swim to for safety. His only choice was to swim forward until he lost all strength completely, moaning in pain as his head wound stung with every splash and movement.

Tomorrow, Bruce Wayne would be dead to all.


End file.
